


Into the Woods

by ManicRavingsofaLunatic



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Action, Bike crash, Canon Compliant up to Episode 3, Graphic Desciption of Blood/Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swearing, Wild Mass Guessing Beyond That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 06:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8479615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicRavingsofaLunatic/pseuds/ManicRavingsofaLunatic
Summary: Lukas takes Philip to the city to distract him, but their return home doesn't go as planned...





	

_What the hell was this guy's problem?_

The woodland road was clear all around them, not another soul to be seen for miles now. Lukas kept his bike considerately close to one side as he set a pace just above the legal limit, leaving a gap wide enough for a freaking 18-wheeler to safely pass. But the idiot in the black truck just _wasn't_ getting the message. It just kept bearing down, closer and closer, forcing Lukas to pick up speed if he didn't want to end up steamrollered by the impatient driver.

Apprehensively, Lukas glanced down at the dials on the front of the bike, watching the speedometer creep up another 5mph just as a bend in the road came up. It was a cold evening right at the beginning of winter; the road slippery with leaves from the now mostly bare trees that bracketed the tarmac on either side, the early darkness alleviated by nothing but the two vehicle's headlamps. It was dangerous to be riding this fast.

Especially with a passenger.

Philip was pressed against his back, arms looped around Lukas' waist even as he turned slightly to glare over his shoulder at the asshole riding their tail. Lukas _never_ pushed the speed limit when he wasn't alone; all too aware of just how dangerous a crash could be. Sure, he would show off sometimes – a couple of easy jumps here and there - but he would never purposely put anyone in danger for the sake of a thrill.

So as they turned into the bend, a tighter one than he had hoped, Lukas gently applied the brakes and let the bike's momentum drift them wide around the curve and into the opposite lane. The truck, that had sped up significantly, missed the bike's rear tyre by inches as they swerved sideways unexpectedly; just avoiding being shunted from behind. For a brief moment, as they came out of the bend, the two vehicles ran side-by-side, before the truck abruptly braked and dropped back.

“What the fuck?” Lukas muttered under his breath, though the rumble of the engine and the muffling of the helmet stole his words. Philip clearly agreed with the sentiment though. His grip, that had been almost painfully tight through the near-miss, loosened a little. One hand gripped Lukas' jacket as Philip twisted on the seat and flipped the bird at the truck; the gesture most likely accompanied by some profanities that were carried backwards by the wind.

The truck pulled further and further away, allowing Lukas to ease up on the throttle a little and drop them down to a safer speed on the treacherous road. Philip's arms returned securely around his waist, and Lukas reached down to pat the clasped hands in a silent question. _Are you okay?_

He received a nod against his back in reply, and Lukas refocused on the road.

Philip didn't need this shit right now. Just a week ago he had come downstairs for breakfast to find Helen talking to an FBI agent in their kitchen. An FBI agent that Philip had recognised instantly from that night in the cabin. The shirtless man that had pointed a gun at an unarmed teen after mercilessly cutting down three men, suddenly sat in a suit at the table making small talk over coffee.

The goddamn jacket that Tommy had died in was still sitting where it had been forgotten on the counter.

Philip had wanted to tell, had wanted to yell at Helen then and there that that was her killer sitting right there, but he couldn't – _wouldn't –_ betray Lukas' trust like that. He'd made an excuse about being late for school and practically ran from the house, dialling Lukas as he grabbed his bike and fled. They'd met up by the old barn with the burnt out car; Philip paranoid and scared that he had been recognised, that Helen was in danger, that the killer had seen the jacket and realised that his witnesses were still out there. They _had_ to tell.

Of course, Lukas had persuaded him that it was okay, that they _didn't_ have to tell. _No one_ could know about them. The killer was an FBI agent, apparently, which meant that he had to uphold the law, right? He'd killed those men in the cabin in self defence, maybe. Turned the gun on Philip in surprise, probably. Tommy and Tracy OD'd. They weren't _silenced,_ or anything. It was _okay._

Their trip to the city that weekend had been the first time Philip relaxed in days.

And then some jackass in a truck tries to scare the crap out of them.

They rode on in the silence broken only by the roar of the bike for a few more miles, the road cutting deep through the centre of the woods that divided off Tivoli from the rest of the state. Philip was still and quiet against his back, the bike not exactly allowing for conversation, until suddenly he shifted. He pulled back a little to look behind them, and then frantically patted the back of Lukas' jacket for his attention.

The truck was back.

_Shit._

Lukas immediately picked up speed, trying to put some distance back between them, but the truck stayed right on their back tyre. He then tried veering and slowing, allowing the truck to take over; but it merely slammed on the brakes and manoeuvred back behind them like a predator stalking prey. Lukas even considered taking the bike off-road where the truck simply could not follow, but he didn't know this part of the woods very well. In the pitch darkness it would only take one felled tree or low branch to take them out – at least on the road he could see where he was going.

Philip clung on tighter, every part of him pressed against Lukas as they hit dangerous speeds, but Lukas' focus was entirely on the road.

Warning signs for an oncoming bend – DANGER – steep incline – REDUCE SPEED NOW –

Lukas had no choice, he braked, leaning hard to one side in order to force the bike into the turn far too fast. He felt the back tyre kick and fought to control it. They would have made it through, even skidding as wildly as they were, but the truck was still on them.

One hard shove kicked out the back end; the bike, already near-horizontal from the lean, suddenly flat on the tarmac and – spinning, _tearing,_ sparks – another _thump_ –

All at once they were airborne, Philip's grip torn from his waist as they were thrown, bike and all, over the railing and sent tumbling down the forewarned steep incline and into the brush below.

* * *

When Lukas woke up, maybe a few minutes later, maybe an hour for all he knew, he was lying flat on his back and blinking through cracked goggles. He didn't immediately hurt, too dazed right then for the fact that they had just crashed to really register. He just stared up at the sky as it spun like one of those time-lapse videos, waiting for the initial shock to recede.

And _then_ he hurt. _Holy_ _shit,_ did he hurt.

He had crashed before, more than once. He recognised the sting of road rash that had shredded through his jeans and grated the skin of his left leg. He recognised the ache of wrenched shoulders and the copper taste of blood in his mouth from where he had bit his tongue. He knew the dizziness and the bruises and the whiplash that pulled painfully in his neck.

He also knew that he was fucking lucky.

Nothing was broken.

A blurry shape moved across his vision, vaguely clearing to a faceless figure as Lukas forced his eyes to focus. He didn't know who it was, probably some first responder that had witnessed the crash. Hopefully they had called an ambulance because there was no way in hell that he was walking home in his state and Philip--

_Oh no._

The good Samaritan, or whatever, was poking and prodding at Lukas, trying to determine his injuries, he guessed, though they weren't exactly being gentle about it. Lukas pushed him or her away, trying to get up and failing while attempting to articulate that he hadn't been alone. “Ph-Philip-- where's Philip?”

The stranger paused, the light glow of the night sky helping to discern enough features for Lukas to figure that it was probably a guy, though his face remained a shadow. The guy sat back on his haunches, looking around for a moment, before placing something on the ground and climbing to his feet. “Stay still,” he ordered. “I'll find your friend.”

Lukas let himself drop back against the ground, still worried about Philip but momentarily reassured that he was going to get help. Tiredly, Lukas reached up and struggled with the strap of his helmet. Discarding the broken goggles, he tugged the heavy helmet off, wincing at the pain any and all movement caused him. He sat up carefully, discovering bruised ribs to add to his collection of injuries, before trying to find his cellphone so that he could use the light to take a closer look at the raw-feeling road rash on his leg. Unsurprisingly, however, the smart phone had not survived.

His dad was gonna kill him.

Squinting in the dark, Lukas tried to see where the stranger had gone, hoping for a chance to make sure that Philip was okay. But there was nothing but trees as far as the eye could see, the thick branches creating even more shadows in the pitch black. Looking up, Lukas could just make out the warped metal of the railing reflecting the weak moonlight, the only evidence left by the truck that had run them off the road.

But _why?_ What kind of messed up psycho got off on attempted vehicular manslaughter? Was the asshole after them specifically, or were they just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Was Philip right to have been paranoid--

No.

No, it was just an accident. Just some jackass with an ego complex trying to rule the road or whatever. There was no way that this was intentional, targeted...

_Right?_

The night seemed to get darker around Lukas as his eyes flickered between the shadows nervously. Not wanting to be alone any longer, he readied himself for attempting to stand, his hand brushing against what the stranger had left behind. Warm metal gave way to a sharpened point under his fingers, revealing the broken off kickstand of his bike. But why had the stranger been holding it? What could he possibly want with a sharp piece of shrapnel when checking someone for injuries? That just made no sense.

Unless.

Unless he _wasn't_ checking for injuries at all. Unless he _was_ the jackass in the truck making sure that no one walked away. Unless he was trying to make sure that it looked like Lukas had died in the 'accident'. Like a staged shoot out in a cabin, or two clean teens suffering a sudden heroin overdose.

No. That was just dumb, Lukas denied, shaking his head a little to clear away the leftover dizziness and paranoid thoughts. The dark was messing with him – the adrenaline from the crash or whatever. There was no way that the stranger had been about to kill him before Lukas had redirected him to Philip. No way. That was just _stupid_ \--

A pained groan and a stuttered gasp echoed through the silence.

“Philip?” Lukas called, terror making his voice shake. Another moan replied, choked off with a muffled cry that sounded a little like Lukas' name. Ignoring his own body's protests, Lukas pushed himself onto his feet. His left leg screamed in pain as the pebble-dashed skin was flexed, almost sending him straight back down to earth again as it failed to take his weight. But he straightened, absently picking up his helmet in the process, and hobbled in the direction that the sound had come from.

No more cries guided Lukas, which was both reassuring and terrifying. He stumbled over roots and grasped blindly at branches, wondering just how far he had been thrown from Philip and the bike.

Up ahead the canopy had been smashed through, allowing moonlight to stream down into the wood, revealing a sight that made Lukas freeze. First, his eyes were drawn to Philip, collapsed against the thick trunk of an old oak tree. And then to the bike that had fallen heavily across him, pinning him down. And then finally, to the stranger, kneeling atop the bike, _pushing_ down... _suffocating_ Philip.

There wasn't a thought process to what happened next; simply an instinct. Just like that night in the cabin when Lukas had hid in the closet, staring helplessly through the slats in relative safety until the moment that Philip had been threatened. Just as he had grabbed the pan and struck then, Lukas darted forward and swung his helmet, cracking it hard into the stranger's face. The sickeningly satisfying sound of a nose breaking accompanied the stranger's graceless fall backwards; off of the bike that was stealing Philip's breath.

Without a second glance, Lukas focused on the bike, trying to figure out a safe way to lift it off without making things worse. He had heard of crush syndrome and its horror stories. He didn't want to hurt Philip any worse than he already was. But he _had_ to get the bike off of him. He could barely breathe!

“It's going to be okay,” Lukas whispered as he knelt down to get a closer look. He could hear Philip wheezing as he struggled to draw breath, his free hand flailing as he instinctively tried to relieve the pressure on his chest. His brown eyes tried to focus on Lukas but they were darkened with agony and panic. He tugged at the strap of his helmet, telling Lukas that he wanted the constricting weight gone. “Okay, it's okay...”

Carefully, Lukas unclipped the strap and lifted the helmet, tossing it over his shoulder so that his hands were free to cup Philip's face. “I'm going to get you out of here,” he promised, brushing a thumb through the tears on Philip's cheek, making sure that he had his attention. “I'm going to try and lift the bike. You need to tell me if anything feels wrong, okay? Its... it's going to hurt.”

Philip squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, and then nodded.

His own muscles aching, Lukas grabbed onto the half-smashed chassis and pulled, barely shifting the bike an inch before Philip groaned. Instantly, Lukas froze, scared that he had hurt the other boy further, but Philip just gestured for him to continue. As his leg cried out in agony, Lukas slowly rose, gradually lifting the bike up and away until

“Lukas!” Philip croaked in alarm.

Startled, Lukas almost dropped the bike back down on Philip's legs, catching himself just in time. Instead he overbalanced the other way, shoving the bike safely to the ground with more strength than he thought he could possibly have. He fell to his knees right by Philip's side, gasping from the exertion, blindly searching for Philip's hand and gripping it tight to make sure that he was okay.

And then he looked up and saw what had made Philip shout.

“You little fucker,” the stranger hissed through the waterfall of blood gushing from his nose. Finally, Lukas recognised him, the light shifting enough to reveal the face that haunted his nightmares. The killer. The FBI agent.

The man with a fucking gun pointed at Lukas' head.

And he looked _pissed_.

Not the normal Dad-level irritation of _why the heck are you shirking your chores again, boy?_ Not the disbelieving huff of _I'm not gonna be your little bitch._ No, it was pure rage that twisted the killer's features; that kind of forcefully repressed fury bubbling over into uncontrolled madness. He practically shook with the force of it, the effort to keep himself from just _killing._ To stop. To think. To plot and plan just how their murder would appear to have played out for the cops that eventually found them.

“You won't shoot us,” Lukas blurted, desperately. He didn't have a clue what he was saying, but he knew that he had to say _something,_ anything, to buy them time. Without surprise, injured, he would never win a fight, but maybe... maybe if he was right... “You _can't._ How would you explain two shot teenagers in the woods?”

The killer paused, his left eye twitching. The gun not moving. Lukas could practically see the thought process, recognised it, even. He had seen it in the mirror often enough. How many times had he forced himself to _pretend?_ To _hide_ who he was? To play the expected role even as feelings he were told were _wrong_ confused him...

Lukas was all too familiar with the fear of being _caught._

That's what the whole pantomime of the crash had been about. Maybe the killer would have doused them in alcohol, made it look as if Lukas had been drink driving before he launched them off the road. It would have appeared as if the bike had crushed Philip, killing him on impact. A broken off kickstand through the chest would have looked like a fluke of the crash. It would have been perfect. Tied it all off in a neat little bow.

No witnesses this time.

The killer's expression hardened. “They would never find the bodies.”

Philip grabbed Lukas' arm, his fingers gripping the sleeve even as he pushed him away – like he wanted Lukas to stay, but _needed_ him to try to get away, to be safe. They both understood what was about to happen. They would look like runaways that had simply disappeared one day. It wouldn't have been the first time that they had vanished to the city; it was just that this time... this time they wouldn't come back.

A junkie's kid and closeted jock? It wasn't unbelievable.

“We weren't... going... to tell...” Philip grunted through clenched teeth, his breath hitching painfully every few words. The gun lowered slightly to settle on him instead. This time the grip on Lukas' arm could be mistaken for nothing other than a flat handed shove. An order to run while the focus was shifted onto Philip. “You would've... gotten away... with it.”

The killer's eyes narrowed. “I already have.”

Another push at Lukas' arm, even more insistent than before. “Have you?”

There was just something about Philip; his voice, his eyes, _something._ Something that could make you question anything. Lukas had been on the receiving end enough times to know how just a simple look and a few words could shake self-assured believes and rattle loose doubts. He was just so calm, and reasonable, with a stare that had seen too much. It was easy to believe that he knew more than you. Even knowing that Philip had only just come out to his mother, after the admission of never having had sex, realising that he was only just peeking out of that same closet as Lukas; he _still_ saw Philip as the experienced one.

Philip was the smart one. The one with the answers. The one that always knew something that you didn't. His confidence versus the paranoia of a killer with too much to lose...?

The gun stayed trained on Philip, but it didn't go off.

“The Sheriff... She'll figure it out...” Philip continued, keeping the attention on him. He didn't even look at Lukas, not wanting to draw the killer's eyes back to him. He pushed his arm one last time before his hand fell weakly to the grass; all of his energy going into talking; buying Lukas a _chance_ to escape. “You've left... too many... bodies. Too many... clues. She will... find you. _Destroy_ you.”

Lukas rocked his weight onto the balls of his feet. There was no way that he was running, he told himself. He would _never_ abandon Philip. But adrenaline was coursing through his veins, pumped up with terror and pain and an instinct to survive. His heart was thudding hard in his chest. He couldn't think clearly anymore.

“Go on,” Philip dared, goading the killer into tunnel vision. “Give her... one more thing... to nail you with.”

Lukas saw the moment that the killer lost his tenuous grip on his homicidal rage. Saw the finger tightening on the trigger. Knew exactly what Philip wanted him to do with the few seconds that the blinding fury was directed entirely at him and not Lukas.

But Lukas didn't run. He was _done_ being a coward. It came down to a choice and the answer was _always_ going to be Philip. He had never been more sure of anything before in his life than he was in that moment.

Launching himself up, Lukas collided hard with the killer. He couldn't be called a tackle, more an ungainly full-body shove that sent them both to the dirt. The _crack_ of the gun going off sounded loudly right by Lukas' ear, but he could only hope that the shot had gone wide as he scrabbled for a weapon. The killer twisted beneath him, trying to bring the gun around to aim at him, but it was hard to intentionally shoot someone when they were that far into your personal space.

They struggled against each other, Lukas using his weight to pin the killer until he was abruptly thrown off and flattened on his back. Suddenly there was a calloused hand pressing against his throat and the barrel of a gun looming inches above his face. He could vaguely hear Philip shouting himself hoarse, trying to make the killer stop, but there was nothing he could do.

It was over. Lukas had tried, but it hadn't been enough.

The killer's expression was blank as he pulled the trigger, almost as if there was no thrill in the actual kill for him. As if it were simply a methodical release for the burning anger that he had to constantly tame.

It was more of a _thud_ than a _bang._ An almost anticlimactic _thunk_ just as Lukas shut his eyes and prayed. And then there was movement, a shifting of weight across his stomach as the killer turned to glare over his shoulder.

And Lukas realised that he wasn't dead.

Philip had thrown a stone, a goddamn pebble that he had found within reach, hitting the killer in the back of the head right before he could get the shot off. It didn't do any real damage, but it called the killer's ire away long enough for Lukas' hand to grab his helmet that he had dropped earlier. Swinging hard, he bludgeoned the killer in back of the head, knocking him sideways. Lukas rolled with him until he ended up on his knees; bringing the helmet down once, twice more, until the killer finally fell still.

Lukas stared down at the blood that was spattered across the grass, his breath coming in short pants as he shook violently. He felt sick, dizzy, confused, powerful and weak all at the same time. He dropped the helmet as if it burned his skin to touch it.

“Lukas?” Philip called quietly, snapping Lukas' eyes away from the blood and onto him. Instantly Lukas was moving, practically crawling over to Philip's side.

The night was getting darker, but their eyes had adapted by now, and there was enough moonlight to make out the blood on Philip's clothes. Lukas ran his hands lightly over his chest and legs, flinching at every broken bone that gave slightly under his fingers. Philip's left leg sat at an unnatural angle, the skin just as shredded with road rash as Lukas'. Several of his ribs had cracked under the weight of the bike, leaving him wheezing with every breath. But his eyes were clear as he glared at Lukas.

“Are you... _crazy?”_ he demanded, trying to sound scolding though his voice was more of a strained whisper by then. Lukas threw him a look as he found Philip's phone in his jacket pocket, the older model somehow surviving the crash with nothing more than a cracked screen. “What... the hell... was that?!”

“Am _I_ crazy?” Lukas retorted as he scrolled through the contacts. _“You_ were the one practically telling a killer to shoot you!”

“ _You..._ were _supposed..._ to _run,”_ Philip grumbled weakly. He winced in pain and closed his eyes with a whimper. Lukas automatically reached out to comfort him, a hand on the back of Philip's neck as he leaned forward to touch their foreheads together.

He listened to the phone ring as he whispered quietly, “Yeah, well. That was never going to happen.”

The Sheriff answered the phone with a mildly angry huff, irritated that Philip had snuck out again without telling his foster parents where he was going. But as Lukas talked; the crash, the cabin, _everything_ falling from his lips, the annoyance quickly turned to concern. She stayed on the line with him and listened to every word even as she had Gabe call an ambulance and grabbed up her keys. They were coming, she assured, before she finally hung up. Help was on the way.

“Philip,” Lukas nudged quietly as he settled down by Philip's side and let the other boy's head rest against his chest. Philip gave a low groan in answer and tangled their hands together as Lukas gently nuzzled his cheek in Philip's hair. “An ambulance is coming. You gotta stay awake with me.”

Philip gave a non-committal grunt. “T-that's... the _third_... t-time... you've'saved... my l-life...”

Lukas smiled and pressed a kiss to his hair. “You save mine everyday.”

Philip scoffed at the pure sappiness of that line, the chuckle quickly devolving into a pained moan. He lifted the hand holding Lukas' and lightly dropped it against Lukas' chest in the imitation of a hit. “D-d-don't... make me... laugh...”

Lukas snorted, though if it sounded more like a sob then neither of them mentioned it. They merely held each other, seeking warmth and safety as they shivered in the cold night air. Lukas brushed his thumb over the fingers clinging to his hand, listening to the careful, shallow breaths that reassured him that Philip was still with him even in the silence.

“Is... is h-he dead?” Philip asked after a while, fear and pain and exhaustion colouring the stutter in his voice.

“I don't know,” Lukas answered honestly. In the distance, they could hear the sound of approaching sirens, the promised help growing closer. Lukas leaned down and placed a chaste kiss to Philip's lips. “It doesn't matter.”

He had told now. The truth was out there.

It was over.


End file.
